A post on customers_suck reminded me of the following interaction (details approximate, with a sprinkling of wishful thinking):

Once upon a time I worked at a gas station/convenience store. Please imagine if you will a chilly day near the beginning of winter in a small community rabidly humping the Canadian border in the hope of earning multi-colored money, because, dude, no one who lives here has any cash.

A tall, moderately good-looking young man in his late teens or early twenties comes in, brandishing a wafer of plastic that is familiar to all people who work in any kind of retail.

I get his pump number, for this was in the glory days of pump-before-you-pay, and ring in his transaction with the usual pleasantries. Then I take the card he has generously placed on the counter at the far end of my reach -- to this day I am convinced that customers place items as far away as they can from any cashier who fails to have a conveyor belt because it gives them perverse joy to see us scrabbling madly for their goods and/or means of payment -- and take a look at it.

Sir, what is your name?

John? Really? This card belongs to Noelle.

Oh, that's your girlfriend? You do realize that this says 'See Photo ID'.

Where -- okay, I can suspend that transaction for the moment. Sorry to keep you waiting Mr. X. How are you today? Thank you for your buisness, I'll see you tomorrow!

Hello again. Yes, I realize you had to wait for Mr. X's transaction. It wouldn't have been fair to make him wait for you to get back from outside.

Sir, what is this? Noelle's ID?

How nice, it really does look like the name on the ID matches the name on the card, but I can definitively state you still don't look a thing like Noelle.

No, you can't use the card, you don't really look like the owner of the card.

Why, yes, I do think that she needs to come in.

No, it doesn't particularly matter to me that she doesn't want to experience our lovely 20 degree Farenheit weather for the 60 seconds it will take her to traverse the pad from your gas pump to the store.

Yes, I can hear you just fine. No, greater volume is not going to give you a spontaneous sex change with concomitant adjustment of your legal identity. No, I don't much care that my rigid adherence to rules is causing you to be late to the concert you're going to. You might have considered a) leaving earlier and b) having the owner of the card come in to use the card.

Of course you can have her card and ID back. My co-worker has gotten the license plate of your car and we'll be pleased to effect the removal of your license if you drive away without paying.

Good afternoon Ms. Y. Your usual cigarettes? Here you go! Have a great day and I'll see you in a few days! Oh, hey, thanks for the cookies! You're the greatest.

Oh, hello. Thank you for throwing your Visa and your ID at me. I always appreciate a bit of confetti falling from the sky, especially when it comes complete with a screech that could shatter glass and then wake the dead.

Why, yes, you do look like the Noelle on the ID, which seems to be the same person as on the Visa.

Of course you can use your own card.

No, you can't just tell your boyfriend to use it inside.

No, I don't care that you've decided not to buy the beer you would have otherwise. Even though we make loads more profit off of beer.

Because you're under age. I have your ID right here, remember?

It's taking a while because our credit card machine is old, slow, and a pain in nether regions.

You're late for the concert? In a terrible hurry because Seattle traffic is going to be horrible once you get there? I'm sorry to hear that. Oh, there goes the printer.

Sign here, please.

Here's your ID and your Visa.

You're never coming back? That's okay. It's cold out. Now that you've gotten down off of the cross I apparently affixed you to with high-velocity finishing nails, we can use the wood for a bonfire to keep us warm. Please don't allow the door to hit you on the ass on the way out.

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I would quote the invective and the yelling, but we've all heard the names and self-justifications and it just isn't all that edifying to repeat what I remember of it. Suffice it to say, they'd've cut about ten minutes off of the whole transaction if they'd stopped cursing long enough to just do what they were told.

TL;DR -- It will always amuse me that people will hand over credit cards that they've written "see id" on the back of to other individuals and then get pissed off when the cashier pays attention and insists on ID-ing the user of the card and refusing to allow the person who doesn't own the card to use it.